The Light
by Nathan Fraust
Summary: 24 years. 24 years after the Beam, after the world went to fucking hell. There's no cure, no chance for hope. Just a myth, a legend about an object hidden beneath the rubble of Empire City, something that could fix everything. It's impossible, but, hey, the world was crazy before all this shit, so why not see if the legends are true?
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**First off, I want to thank Dreams of Florence for inspiring me to follow this idea. Secondly, Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

**-Nate**

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_No one really knows what happened. After that blast of light, we'd heard rumors of people popping up all over the globe, people with powers. I'd heard they were called Conduits, but most people called them freaks. The UN didn't know what to do about them; guess they were too chicken-shit to try _anything. _After all, what would _you_ do if you were up against God?_

_ Anyways, the people in the U.S. started to take matters into their own hands, lynching Conduits, both activated and those they suspected could activate, and their sympathizers. My neighbor got shot in the head, point blank, because he was hiding one of them, a teenager who could control plants, in his basement. They buried her alive, hands duct-taped, in a steel box, 12 feet under, 6 of dirt and 6 of cement, and poured a tankerful of poison on the ground in a 10 square mile area to kill off all the flora._

_I can still hear the screams, the wet _bang, _the muffled groans and the begging. They kept people there at the burial site for a day, until the screams stopped and the god-damned silence took over. Fucking murderers laughed about it later, talked about what they'd _wished_ they could've done to her. I just gritted my teeth and gripped my 9-millimeter, just to keep from shooting someone in the nuts._

_After about 2 months of chaos, the U.S. government created the Department of Unified Protection to get the riots and lynch mobs under control. 4 months later, the DUP had started to round up Conduits with the help of trustworthy Conduit and Lieutenant Colonel Kiran Smith and his power over metal, and put them in Curdun Cay, up in the Pacific Coast Range. Within a half-year, Curdun Cay had more than 45,000 Conduits, or as people had started to call them,. "Bioterrorists", detained within its walls. A bad idea in the first place, but anyone who argued against it could get thrown in along with the Bioterrorists, so everyone kept their mouth shut and head down. Hell, some even joined just to get the inside track, like me._

_Due to the success of Curdun Cay, the international community attempted their own hand at the detainment of Bioterrorists. Japan and Saudi Arabia had particular achievements; the Japanese National Public Safety Commission created a Bioterrorist-enhanced branch to deal specifically with the control and isolation of Bioterrorists from the general populace, while the Saudi Arabian Ministry of Defense and the National Guard merged with Bioterrorists in the White Army to create a more unified and stronger force against terrorist organizations like al-Qaeda and capture their Bioterrorists, both for information and control._

_After about 3 years, most of the Conduit race, about 98 percent, had been killed. The remainder was detained, and sometimes experimented on for military and medical enhancements. The world had finally started to settle down when we started hearing reports of "demons" and "madmen" in Tibet. Within a month, the entire country was quarantined. 3 months after that, similar incidents occurred in India and Pakistan, and the entire area was quarantined and nuked. But the reports kept coming, from China, Russia, hell, even _Brunei_ had the same thing happening to them in the next 5 months. Poor bastards didn't even know what hit them until it was too late. Soon, people started to figure out that Conduits were immune to the infection, so they virtually vanished, dug in deep and waited._

_Europe tried to section itself off against the infection, but some idiot from Italy decided to do a Superman and go rescue his girlfriend. Dumbass brought the plague back with him, got the entire continent turned in about 4 months. The World Health Organization tried to create a vaccine, but after a report leaked that the latest tests had failed, it got swarmed._

_Africa didn't do too well itself. The people there were too busy bickering and being corrupt to pay attention to what was happening under their own stuck-up noses. First Central, then East, West, and finally, North and Southern. South Africa, Libya, and Morocco held out for a few months longer than the others, about the middle of '14, but they fell, just like everyone else._

_South America, they went out fighting. Took almost 7 months for Chile and Argentina to fall; the rest, a month. Gone by the end of '14._

_Don't think Australia got anything. Damn lucky bastards._

_Now, back to good old U.S. of A. Ours started early, down in Texas. Must've come in with the chicken and soybeans. We went down later than others; first East, then the Midlands, and finally the West, where I was stationed, up in Oregon. We tried to nip the damned thing in the bud - huh, made a funny- but just ended up making the thing spread faster. Some people up in the North managed to escape into Canada before they closed their borders to us. Lucky sons of bitches; rest of 'em got cut up by the turrets and razor wire._

_Those of us who decided to stay set up quarantine zones across the nation. Pittsburg, Boston Dallas, Vegas, New Marais, Miami, Topeka, up here in Seattle. Rations here started to run low in the winter of '16. In the beginning, we'd had enough food to last us close to a quarter of a century, but these damned rebels, the Fireflies, started stealing our food, giving half of it to the people, the rest to themselves. We had to start sending out patrols to hunt for food, but most of the time, they either never came back, or only had a few rabbits. Sometimes a whole deer. Damn, _that_ was some _good_ venison._

_After about 2 years, we lost contact with the other QZs. Don't know if they got overrun, or if the lines went down. We hunkered down and started to scan for infection. We'd figured out that it was a mutated strain of the _cordyceps unilateralis _fungus (rumors were the Beam created them; with the Conduits being immune), so we managed to create a handheld scanner for spores inside the refugees. Turned out about 20, 25 percent were fucking infected, so we sent out the firing squads, rounded them up. You can still see the stains on the Gum Wall._

_When that was finished, we began to round up the Fireflies for execution, so they went all guerilla and started doing bombing raids and ambushes against us. That went on for about 7 more years, until we managed to seige their fortress at the old Channel 6 building and capture their leader, Nate Caine, and his cabinet. I had to put a bullet in one of them, Finn Rowe. Back of the head, no pain._

_Refugees from the reservations and small towns started trickling in after that; the Akomish group itself was rather small, only about 35. Got Captain Rowe from that bunch; best damn shot I've seen in a long time._

_So, I think that brings us back to now. Got orders from Mr. Smith to go patrol the Outskirts, check for any strays, forage for food, stuff like that. Wish me luck, Ash, baby girl._

_- Ichabod "Bodie" Johnson_

**Author's Note: I think a few people may get the significance of Bodie's daughter's nickname. :) Just look at his last name.**


	2. I: Time Bomb

I: Time Bomb

The soldier pressed the button on the side of his shoulder radio, said a muffled "All clear" into the receiver as he scanned the inky-black alleyway with detector and flashlight for non-existent spores, then depressed the button, restoring radio silence. He felt his squad members glance in his direction for a moment before returning their gazes to the quickly darkening street.

The DUP had heard reports of Infected in Rainier Valley, probably from Seward Park, so, as usual, they sent out Squad 2T1N to investigate. _I swear to God,_ the soldier thought with a bit of irritation, _if this is another one of Mr. Blake's stupid fits of narcissism, I'm going to-_

"Help!" The hoarse shriek shattered his train of thought. His men looked back at him for a moment, a glint of fear showing in the darkened eyes.

Hoisting his M4, he waved F2, J8, and B5 forward silently, then directed Q8 and R7 behind him, and A4 and B7 on his sides, forming an arrowhead formation. The squad stalked forward cautiously, but quickly, sidestepping shards of glass and the occasional brick, as the cries of "help me" grew louder. They heard footsteps drawing closer, and tensed, stopping and settling into their positions.

A few moments later, a rail-thin woman appeared, dressed in a black jumpsuit two sizes too big and zipped up to the neck, a pair of tattered khaki dress slacks, and worn grey converses, cheeks stained with blood and hazel eyes full of fear. Seeing the squad, she sped up, angling for the soldier in the middle. She jumped and wrapped her arms around him. "R! You've got to help me, they're -"

She froze as a series of croaks filled the air, followed shortly after by inhuman groans and screams. A horde of nine runners burst into the street, led by six clickers. One of the runners looked around for a moment, then, spotting the squad and petrified woman, let out an agonized scream and rushed towards them. The entire horde followed the deviation, moving at shocking speeds.

The squad fired in a slow, constant pulse, mowing down the entire first row, then the second. The downed clickers let out a stream of loud snapping sounds before quieting with a final series of clicks and settling.

A quiet sob escaped the jumpsuit woman, who gripped the lead soldier's neck all the tighter. She began to babble, "I'm so sorry, I was just going for a walk, and… oh, God!"

"We're clear," the soldier said into the chattering speaker. "You, move up," he ordered the three in front and two in back, pointing to the street ahead. "Harper, Connell, with me."

Gently prying the woman's arms off of his neck, the soldier let her down slowly. Crouching to her level, he removed his helmet and gas mask and put them aside.

"Annie, what are you _doing_ here?" he demanded softly, putting a gloved hand on the woman's face and wiping away the crimson. "You know curfew's 30 minutes before sundown."

"I'm so sorry," she apologized again, quieter this time and eyes downcast. "I just…"

"Wait, I need to scan you."

"What for?" she questioned, wide eyes looking up into his cocoa own. "I'm clean, R."

"Just a precaution, Annie."

"No," she refused, backing away.

"Annie," he said in a concerned tone.

"No!" she insisted frantically, spittle flying. "I'm clean, R! I'm… fine."

"Captain," Harper said with a hint of worried frustration.

The captain sighed. Unclipping the detector from his bandolier, he reached out and grasped Annie's shaking arm. Pressing it to her exposed wrist, he extracted a vialful of blood and waited for a few seconds, gazing at it with anxious hope.

Red. The detector slipped out of his numb fingers, clattering to the asphalt. It was immediately snatched by Annie, who stared for a second, then released it, groaning in terrified agony.

Robotic hands, not the soldier's own, went to his M1911 and unholstered it, raising it shakily at her head. "Show me," he heard himself say.

"R…" Annie groaned.

"_Show me!_" the voice growled, arms settling.

A moment of hesitation, then Annie rolled the jumpsuit's left arm up to her elbow. A half-ring of separated arches on her forearm oozed fresh blood, shot through with a sickly yellow-orange. "I'm sorry, Reg. I'm so sorry," she pleaded, searching his broken eyes. "Please… Reggie, please…"

"She's a time bomb, Captain, sir," Harper said, fear evident in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Captain Rowe," Connell said slowly, "but Harper's right. There's nothing else we can do for her."

Reggie Rowe looked at one of the only two people he truly loved in all the world for the last time, terror and sorrow in his watery eyes, mouthed _I'm sorry_, and pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note: Please, Read, Review, and Enjoy! Also, if anyone can tell me where the idea for this chapter originated, I'll be sure to PM you back so I can ****try and ****get your hometown or city put into this story, somehow.**

**-Nate**


	3. II: FreedomSecurity

**AN: Well, here's the next chapter. Sorry it's so late, I've been swamped with work and paperwork for this thing in Houston I might go to soon. Anyways, Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

**-Nate**

II: Freedom/Security

Reggie patted his left pants pocket, feeling for that telltale lump of a key. Glancing up at the pair of CCTV cameras trained on him for the moment, he licked his quickly drying lips, then searched his right pocket with increased urgency. Grunting with worried panic at the uniformity, he tossed off his coat and quickly checked every opening. He froze for a moment as the automated announcement system blared, _CURFEW BEGINS IN FIVE MINUTES. ANY AND ALL CITIZENS FOUND OUTSIDE THEIR DESIGNATED LIVING SPACES WILL BE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE TERMINATION._

"Damnit," Reggie cursed. He pounded on the rattling wrought iron-and-glass door. "Delsin, open the door!"

A faint shuffling was the only reply.

"Delsin, let me in!" His voice had a hint of panicked fear.

The shuffling grew fainter.

_CURFEW IN THREE MINUTES._

"Shit! Delsin, _please_…"

The door suddenly flew open. Delsin's pale and stained face stared at him, streaked white features broken only by the twin black spots surrounding the eyes and the almost-comical crimson-tipped nose and cheeks.

"Password, accepted," the punk said in a (rather shitty) robot voice, grin sending spidering cracks through the dried paint.

Reggie shoved past his brother and stalked through the narrow hall to the den, nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of vaporized paint. He heard the door creak shut and the infuriatingly slow shuffle begin again, but didn't look back. Didn't want to give the stupid kid any more attention than he'd already gotten.

The faint _CURFEW IN SIXTY SECONDS_ faded away as Reggie rounded the corner and immediately turned back around. "Delsin! _What _did I _tell you?!"_

Delsin reached the entryway and looked over his brother's shoulder at the scraps of paper littered around the room, so many that it appeared a tornado had touched down, the dozen or so assorted spray-paint cans leaking liquid defiance into the grubby carpet, and the spatter of rainbow colors on the whitewashed concrete walls. He shrugged. "Guess _someone_ can't deal with a little 'freedom of speech'."

Reggie shoved Delsin back against the wall. Dust rained down on both of them; Mrs.' Hughes muffled voice shouted above them, "Delsin, I swear, if you don't _stop punching the wall_, I'll come down there and stick your hands together with superglue!"

"You realize," Reggie hissed in a low voice, eyes narrowing, "I can arrest you right now, just for talking back, right? Not to mention the multiple counts of vandalism."

"What?" Delsin had a look of mock shock on his face, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. "I have _no idea_ what you're talking about, Reg."

"Oh, yeah?" Reggie pulled his phone out of his pocket, flicked it on, and showed the screen to his little brother. "Tell that to Lincoln's Toe Truck."

Delsin looked at the famous oddity of a vehicle, pink coating speckled with crimson and ivory dots and a stenciled mouth and thermometer protruding out of the big toe. "Sorry, man," he said, giving an exaggerated sigh, "must have been Mz. N. or someone. I've been cooped up in this shit-hole for at _least_ a month."

Reggie shot him a look of cold fury, then released him with a final shove and turned towards the kitchenette. He opened the fridge, pulled out a can of Seattle Cider Company Semi-Sweet hard cider, and cracked it open with a _ssss_. Taking a long, burning swig, he turned back to Delsin, who was leaning against the single unstained wall, and pointed towards the den. Delsin rolled his eyes, but turned around and sulkily trudged out of sight, Reggie following him closely.

Delsin grabbed a pile of paper scraps from the mountain of white against the wall and, grunting with the exertion, carried them over to a large trash-can already over-flowing and stuffed them in. He repeated this a few more times, until an old black leather couch emerged. Delsin stepped back, looked at Reggie, who was leaning against the other wall, and motioned to the couch. "You wanna sit?"

Reggie stared at him for a moment, then ground out, "Yeah." He pushed off the coarse concrete and strode across the room. He sat down, gritting his teeth at the loud, irritating creaking noise as long-unused springs struggled to recover from rest, then looked up at his brother, who was still standing, arms crossed over his jacketed chest. "Sit," he said in a quiet, firm voice, pointing at the adjacent recliner.

Delsin's brow furrowed, but he complied, sinking into the cracked leather cushion. He shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable, and then settled. Looking his brother in the eye, he asked, "What happened?"

Reggie took another swig of the half-gone cider, staring at the stained carpet. "She's dead."

"Who?"

"Annie."

Delsin's face twisted. "How?"

"I- I shot her."

"_What?!_"

He felt the glare of his brother burning into his skull, just as he felt the wet streaks on his face. "She was- she was infected."

Delsin was about to open his mouth, most likely to curse, when Reggie set down the can and turned to look him full in the face, and he shut up.

Reggie continued: "We were investigating reports of Infected in Rainier Valley. We were about to finish up when we heard the-" He paused and looked away, gripping his head with shaking hands as he remembered. "The scream," he whispered.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder squeeze for a moment before releasing. He looked to see Delsin withdrawing his hand, concern etched on his face. "I had to do it, Del. I-" He choked up, a hard lump settling in his throat, before swallowing and whispering, "I have to keep you alive, keep you- secure."

"I know."

Reggie averted his gaze and stared at a freshly stained spot of blackish purple on the formerly cream carpet, which was now more of a khaki color from all the spilt paint over the past 5 years. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself up from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

"Okay, Reg, Night."

Reggie started walking towards the hallway, then turned and looked at Delsin, who was a bit preoccupied with a spray-paint can. "Delsin."

"Yeah?" Delsin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Tomorrow, you're coming with me to the Station," he said gravely, face hardening.

"What?! _No!_"

"_Yes_," Reggie barked, "you _are_. You yourself said you've been 'cooped up in this shit-hole for at least a month.' It'd do you some good to get fresh air on your face. Speaking of which, you should wash it."

He turned around and walked towards his bedroom. He opened the door, slipped inside, and was about to close up for the night when he heard Delsin mutter, "Shit. Me and my big mouth. Screw you, Reg. Just_ trying to assert my talent _here. Ah, well, no tagging tomorrow, I guess. He's right, though; I do need to get this fucking shit off my face."


End file.
